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Seasight 

The tawny stem all flaunting and rich,
Strewn on the rocks by a reckless hand;
A treasure nourished by tide and spray
And taking root in the barren sand. 
The garden of stones and stranded shells
Tended by shallow wash of the sea,
Admired by gulls with their salt-air cries
As they swoop to perch on the driftwood quay. 
The blossom waving on colorless beach,
Shocking with scarlet the sun-blanched shore;
Lustrous petals from supple silk cut,
But leaping with flames at its frankincense core.

- Rebekah Curry

 

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